


The Right Kind of Broken

by stargategeek



Series: Green Eyed Drabbles [2]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Brokenness, Cult AU, Dirty Touching, F/M, Healing?, Lightbringer, Lord of Light - Freeform, Modern AU, Past Abuse talk, Pseudo-Incest, Sexy Cult talk, Weird rituals, fucked up family dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 14:13:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19725331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stargategeek/pseuds/stargategeek
Summary: “We are all broken, Sansa. We are all damaged,” his voice was soft, his mouth curving in a small smile. “What matters is that you want to heal. That is what you want?”“Yes,” she said without thinking, the words coming from some dark twisted force inside of her. One that responded to the dark twisted force inside him. The word uttered felt as thought she had signed a contract with the devil. A green-eyed devil.Petyr’s smile turned wicked. “I think you are just the right kind of broken, Sansa.”





	The Right Kind of Broken

It was a ritual. A cleansing ritual to prepare a woman’s womb for the burden of childhood. The entire compound stood in witness as they painted her body in streaks of red paint, over her abdomen and the inside of her thighs. 

She was struck with a bundle of twigs, sage and mint leaf, set on fire. Twice on her belly, above the pubic bone, four times on the top of each thigh. The more she could withstand the licking hot flames ghosting and tasting her flesh with each strike, the more likely the gods would smile upon the conception. 

A hand lighted upon her shoulder, causing her to startle.

The red priestess silenced her with a dark impenetrable gaze.

“Come with me, Sansa.”

She led her away from the group towards a nearby hut.

“Was I not supposed to be watching the ceremony? I apologize, I didn’t know-“

The woman hushed her with a raised hand, the blood red ruby in her finger nearly bumping Sansa in the nose.

“You are family, are you not?”

“I-I...”

“Lysa’s niece, yes?

“Uh-huh,” Sansa muttered dumbly.

“Then its best you help me prepare him,” she continued moving forward at a furious pace. “The couple must be covered in the ash of the sacred fire root. It is best if it is done by a member of the family. Once Lysa is done with the purification she will be attended to by a chosen group of ladies. Petyr will have you.”

Sansa’s throat went instantly dry.

“M-me? I’m to-“

The woman stopped in front of the door, noticing the way Sansa’s entire body seemed to freeze as the reality of the situation dawned on her. She smiled at her, a sly wicked lift of one side of her mouth.

“Call me Melisandre,” the red woman’s red lips curled sensuously as she turned the handle of the door and pushed Sansa inside. She could hear the locking of the mechanism behind her. No where for her to run.

Petyr stood in the centre of the room, his back to her, bare save for the towel wrapped around his waist.

“Petyr?” her voice waivered, her eyes darting around the room, trying to avoid taking in his form, the taut lines of his back and shoulders. The room was sparse, a flaming heart adorned the floor, which Petyr stood in the middle of, and another graced the wall in front of him. To the side there was a small table with a prepared bowl of brightly coloured red ash, and a red bottle of oil.  
Sansa swallowed down the dry knot forming in her throat.

Petyr slowly turned around to face her, his expression passive, but the tension in his body unmistakable.

“I...I’m not quite sure what’s going on.”

He smiled, softly.

“As my wife, it is important that Lysa produce an heir.” Petyr shrugged. “We’ve tried letting nature run its course but even nature needs a little help now and then.”

He laughs, rather bashfully. “I know our customs must seem weird to an outsider like you, but we all must do our part for the greater good.”

Sansa looked down his chest. It took her nearly a full minute to truly take in the scar bisecting him in two.

“It’s ugly, isn’t it?”

“What did this to you?” the worry Sansa had felt melted away in favour or her curiosity...and empathy.”

“I was a fool,” he smiled, but expression did not reach his eyes. “I wanted something that was not mine to have and I was punished for it.”

“Seems like a harsh punishment.”

He seemed to laugh a little, though it almost felt forced.

“One must learn the truth at some point, and in order to learn one must be put into a position to be taught. I learnt a great deal from this. All scars can teach us lessons.”

Sansa took a step towards him, stripping off the simple grey cardigan they had given her to reveal her arms. There were many little scars up and down the sides of her arms. Two lines on her left wrist, a burn mark on her right hand. Petyr gently ghosted his fingers over each of them, reverently, as if he were examining precious material.

“Who did this to you?” his eyes flicked to hers, warm with sympathy and tenderness.

Sansa averted his gaze, looking down at the scar above her elbow.

“When I was fifteen, I met a boy,” Sansa tried to sound casual, she’d never really told anyone this story before. “You think you were a fool? You should’ve seen me. I fell for the first guy who had a passing interest in me. Just my luck he was the worst person in the world.” She curses the way her eyes tear up at the mention of him. “He was very sweet at first. Telling me he’d love me forever, give me the world. That type of shit. And I thought, you know, that it was true love. Because he said it was, and I believed him. My parents didn’t approve, especially my mom. She called him a posh pill pushing punk. I was so mad at her...so I ran away with him.“

Petyr began gently stroking his fingers up her arms in light teasing motions.

“Things were fine for awhile, we went all over, sleeping in motels, eating at weird little diners, you know until his trust fund ran out. He was an addict and his family cut off his revenue in the hopes that he would get cleaned up. He didn’t. He just got more creative. And one night I got home...and he had this friend with him, and he tells me that he owes this friend a debt and that I was going to repay it. And his friend took me to the back room and he...” Sansa shuddered, her eyes shutting from the wave of painful memories. Petyr’s teasing motions turned into a light grip, just enough to keep her steady - to keep her from collapsing in on herself.

“Anyway when it was over, I saw the man give him some money. I remember thinking, how much was I worth? I figured out later. He’d given him a 10 dollar bill. That’s all I was worth to him.”

Petyr’s hand gently came up to her face, stroking his thrums through the stream of her tears. His face was impossibly tender. “Thank you,” he whispered, staring straight past the tears and into her soul. 

“For what?” She hiccuped, feeling strangely warm yet safe under his intense stare.

“Now I have learnt something about you. I will make you a believer yet.”

He leant down and kissed her gently. A brief kiss; a chaste kiss. It was as if he’d kissed her past away, she suddenly felt lighter than she ever had before. She was made of air, and warmed by the light and the warmth that was Petyr.

He released her and stepped away, back into the centre of the flaming heart.

“We will talk more later, for now, you must prepare me,” the warm and tender man here just a moment before slipped behind the mask of a man of duty, the leader, Lightbringer.

“What must I do?” Sansa caught on quickly, wiping her face with the hem of her skirt. She quickly went over to the tray of ash and oil, bringing it over to the centre where Petyr stood and setting it at his feet.

“It’s quite simple really, you must cover my entire body with the ash and certain parts of my person with the oil.

“And this will help your wife get pregnant?”

“It wards away darkness and shadows.”

“Flashlights might also do the trick.”

He laughed.

“Flashlights aren’t consecrated by doctrine.”

“Ahhh,” Sansa said teasingly, kneeling to dip her hands in the bowl of ash. “Where do I start first?”

Petyr took a moment to consider.

“Wherever you deem best.”

Sansa sighed, taking a step back to regard him like an artist takes in their canvas. She knew where she wanted to start, but she was resolved to save it for last. Instead, she chose his arms first. Bringing her hands down the curve of his shoulder peak, along his lithe arms. The ash spread fairly well, and she revelled in being able to touch him like this. Even for a non-believer, the privilege must be an honour. Like touching the Lord himself. She spread the ash from his left arm across his collarbone to his right arm, repeating the motion over again. She made sure to even get his armpit, surprised to see even there he had been shaved clean, as well as his legs - hairless save for what was on top his head, and the strangely dignified facial hair. She moved immediately to his back, quickly coating the landscape of his scapula and spine, running her fingers over the delicate ridges. He jumped a little when she grazed a sensitive spot. It amused her to know that the great leader of man was a little bit ticklish. Or perhaps a lot judging from the way that he squirmed when she did the same on the opposite side.

She stroked up his legs, up until her hands met the towel. The only thing separating him from seeing the entirety of his being. She looked up at him, a teasing twinkle in her eye.

“Do I remove the towel?” she asked, her voice limiting and playful. He smirked, hands coming to the knot. He hesitated, eyes watching her as she watched him with a deft eagerness she tried her best to conceal. 

Knowing he had her full attention, he slowly peels back the edges of the towel, letting it drop to the floor unceremoniously. The whole of him now completely bare to her. 

Sansa’s breath caught at the sight of him. His cock dangling between his legs like low hanging fruit. Her eyes went from his manhood back to his eyes, giving him another teasing glance. She ignored his phallus in favour of his gluteus, being sure to get the ash in between the cracks, enjoying the way he sighed when she parted the cheeks just a little.

Sansa had never seen such a well formed man, most of what she had to go off of were Joffrey’s friends All small, wiry assholes with boy bodies. None of Petyr’s lines and curves and fullness. 

Her hand trailed along his hip and she walked around to his front again, bringing her ash covered hands gently to his face. Those grey green tempestuous eyes slid behind their lids. They were so close now, she could almost feel the rumble of something deep in his chest, as she touched the line of his jaw and the soft skin of his throat underneath. Gently over each eyelid. The straight ridge of his nose, even the strange curvature of his lips. He laughed when she stroked his ear, and sighed once more when she pressed her fingers against his temples.

She could feel him. All of him, pressed against her as she applied the ash. Uncomfortably close, or at least it should’ve been given their relations, but not close given how close they had been not moments before - when he’d kissed her.

As she went to run the ash through his hair. She began to feel the hard resistance of something pressing against her thigh. Her eyes looked down to see him hard, bobbing against his stomach. He was hard for her. Or was it the thought of his wife that made him so. Was that part of the ritual? Was this why it had to be family. So that the intimacy of this process would not lead into the realm of temptation?

She looked back up at him, his eyes now open. The movement of his belly belied the rush he was feeling; of having her this close to him and touching. She lowered her arms to take his cock in her hand to apply the ash when he stopped her.

“Sweetling, please, the oil,” his voice rasped. 

Sansa looked down at the red bottle and back to her ashy palms. She felt a little defiant, looking him straight in the eye as she grasped the base of him. She thrilled in the way his eyes dropped shut, and the sound, barely a moan, leaving his mouth in a sigh.

“Do you like this?” she whispered. Her hand slowly dragged from the root to the head of him. A rough tug, causing him to hiss. “Does this please you?”

She stroked him again, dipping her hand below to just graze the round fullness of him. 

His breath hitched and he moaned, his head falling back. “Yes,” he whispered.

She released him, eyeing the way his stomach moved with each heavy breath he sucked in. It pleased her to move him, the way he has moved her.  
She lowers to her knees and grasps the bottle of oil, pouring a hefty amount in the palm of her hand. It tingled with warmth and smelt of clove. She peeked up at him through her lashes, meeting his intent stare, his eyes looked almost black in the dim light.

“I want to believe,” she muttered. “Teach me.”

With that she brought her hand to him, grasping him at the base and stroking his length in long vigorous glides of her hand. She watched his face screw up in pleasure as she applied the oil. She was adept at this, something Joffrey had taught her, but it also felt different than all those other times. It felt holy at the feet of her green-eyed saviour. Every moan a cleansing fire of its own.

“Yes, oh yes,” he muttered in response. Whether to her hand moving over the sensitive tip or in acquiescence to being her guide on her spiritual journey. Or both. Maybe they were one in the same. Either way she couldn’t stop her hand moving over him, faster, her face now level to his cock. She was tempted to put her mouth to him as well. The thought of how he would sing, buried in her pure wet warmth. But he was fully coated in the oil, and she wasn’t sure it was healthy to swallow, so she resolved to press her lips to the ash-covered skin above his pelvis. A simple press that implied her desire to touch and to taste, even as her hand flew more rapidly over him. His resolve broke with an audible sigh, his hands coming to rest in her fiery red hair. 

“Oh Sweetling,” he nearly grunted, his breath as thick as tar. 

He must be close, Sansa thought. Her hand was a blur, determined to rub him off so that he was forced to go to his wife with her name already pulled from his lips. She wanted him to be stained with her, and in return she’d stain herself with him.

His hands pulled on her hair gently, tugging her away from his person so that he could look at her. One hand came to rest over hers on his person, stilling her movements.

“Sansa, stop, that’s enough,” his mask was back in place. She could feel the transfer of ash now splotched on her nose and chin from kissing him. She must look a sight in her virginal white dress, her hands dyed red. “I don’t want to stain you,” he whispered, sucking back controlling breaths.

Sansa dropped her hands away from him, suddenly feeling very foolish. What was she doing? He was her Uncle.

“I’m sorry,” she bowed her head.

“Sansa...” 

“I’m beyond repair aren’t I?” She felt a wayward tear fall down her cheek. “I’m broken.”

He cupped her chin, his green eyes soft and tender, despite all that happened in the past few minutes. She felt as though they had been locked together for years.

“We are all broken, Sansa. We are all damaged,” his voice was soft, his mouth curving in a small smile. “What matters is that you want to heal. That is what you want?”

Sansa stared at him, her gaze open, her expression one of marble. What did he want with her?  
“Yes,” she said without thinking, the words coming from some dark twisted force inside of her. One that responded to the dark twisted force inside him. The word uttered felt as thought she had signed a contract with the devil. A green-eyed devil.

Petyr’s smile turned wicked. “I think you are just the right kind of broken, Sansa.”

**Author's Note:**

> From the vaults of past fic ideas I never got around to finishing. 
> 
> And the winner is...
> 
> Weird Sexy Cult Fic!!!
> 
> Ok, cult might be misleading. I started to write a fic a little over a year ago, heavily inspired by the show The Path, but with our favourite gruesome twosome. I posted a chapter of it on here entitled The Green Eyed Saviour, but i got too distracted with other things to finish it. But I had prewritten a section or two that I thought stood by itself pretty nicely. So here you go. Enjoy!


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